Directionless Drabbles
by Clarra-Night
Summary: Random Loki-and-Thor drabbles, using my list of fic prompts. No romance or sex stuff. Warning: may contain spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**HEY.**

 **All those people who've been reading, reviewing, recommending, Following, or Favouriting any of my stories or PM-ing me since I'd last been on Fanfiction:** ** _thank you_** **, again. Don't know how else to say it. Every notification in my inbox that says someone's PM-ed or enjoyed my stories has been such a comforting nod from the good old days.**

 **It's been _way_** **longer than I would have preferred since I'd last been on here. It feels good to be back, however briefly. For the past few months I'd been trying to work on a certain one-shot as a break from gloomier life business. Then, considering that that one-shot is about death, I decided recently to take a break from it to write some easier, more cheerful stuff.** **I picked three story prompts out of a figurative hat and wrote this trio of Loki-and-Thor drabbles. Then realised afterwards one of them still has death in it, but oh well. The three prompts used are in the Author's Notes at the end of the third story. (My list of prompts just comes from viewing various blogs, movies, books, conversations, and the like). Hope you like at least one of these. Sorry the post is so short :/**

 **Hoping to get that other 'death' inspired one-shot up sometime soon (no promises on the timeframe, but I'm determined it'll go up eventually). Also, I may add to this series of prompt-inspired drabbles whenever I'm in the mood for some directionless creativity.**

 **Also, I'm really sorry for the title of this post :/**

 **xoxox or something similarly affectionate with much less body contact**

* * *

"For Hel's sake, Thor, stop shoving – !"

A quiet, unassuming _bump._

Thor looked up.

"Oh, no…"

(Loki managed a little sigh. The kind he reserved for those moments during which he foresaw the ensuing cataclysm with painful clarity, and yet decided the consequential fun outweighed the utter hell he would pay for it).

Despite evidently having time to register the disastrous nature of the _bump,_ Thor also simply stared.

And so the fragile, painstakingly detailed (and no doubt expensive) sculpture of Bor teetered upon its dais, rocking just past the point of no return –

(So gently, as if time had slowed to dramatise their misstep even more)

– before toppling away from them –

(So they had little hope of catching it before it hit the floor; this was to form part of Thor's defence of their blunder, before Loki reminded him Frigga and Odin had already stated the two of them specifically were banned from entering that chamber whilst the statue was kept there)

– and –

the _bump_ metamorphosed into an out-and-out _CRASH!_

Loki even managed to squeeze in a good eye-roll.

Thousands of stars of splintered crystal sprayed across the polished grey-black floor. It was like witnessing the abrupt birth of a miniature night sky. The sound became almost musical as the last shards skidded their way to a tinkling stop.

"Uh…" Thor seemed stunned at the notion of his celebrated grandfather (albeit a mere glass rendition of) being brought down around their feet.

"Well said," Loki nodded with mock thoughtfulness.

Thor peered at Loki with a sidelong glance. "This is to be the high table's centerpiece at the banquet tomorrow. Correct, Brother?"

"Well, no…"

Relief suffused Thor's expression.

"…Not anymore," Loki finished. Thor winced.

"And how long did it take them to fashion this, again?"

Loki shrugged. "A little over a year, perhaps. I'm struggling to remember exactly, I'm getting distracted by this inexplicable vision of Mother flailing the living daylights out of us. Are you seeing it too?"

Thor scratched his stubbly cheek.

"What do you think we should do now?" Loki asked, offhandedly.

"…Uh…"

"You've proposed that one already."

"Then why don't _you_ think of something clever instantaneously?" Thor jabbed.

"The right thing to do would be to inform the sculptors as soon as possible, and then aid the resourcing of a new centerpiece."

The sound of quick footsteps and distressed voices began echoing through the entryway they had used earlier. They looked at each other.

Thor shoved Loki towards the chamber's opposite end – the second doorway welcomed them like arms of a friend spread open widely. They sprinted, trying to be silent though not bothering to avoid crunching a few larger chunks of the dead sculpture beneath their thick boots.

They were streaming through their third corridor in the palace's eastern quarter when Loki started laughing breathlessly. Thor glanced over to toss a "shut up, Brother!" over his shoulder.

"The great prince flees instead of professing his offence!"

"That crime was on the both of us, and you are running too!"

"But you expect it of me!" Loki grinned. "We should have simply stayed and let me lie through it!"

"This way they have no link to us!"

"Honestly, I doubt our parents will have much trouble guessing."


	2. Chapter 2

Thor did not always notice so instantaneously when something was wrong, but this time it was as obvious as a scream when he burst into the feasting hall. The tip of his favourite play-sword wilted to the floor as soon as the problem hit him.

His little brother's short legs swung well above the ground, at the knees. And rhythmically, as if taunting Thor. Father was saying something to him, so Loki's dinner – a seedcake, dribbles of stew with lumps of vegetables, some shiny purple berries – was being completely ignored.

The obnoxious nerve of his brother made Thor's eyes narrow as he marched towards him and tapped his small shoulder. A lock of black hair fell over Loki's left eye as he turned to look up at Thor. Mother should really cut his hair.

Thor informed him: "You're in my spot."

Outrageously, Loki merely looked puzzled.

"What do you mean it's your spot?"

Thor sighed, frustrated. "I always sit there, remember?"

More bafflement on his brother's silly face. "But this isn't _your_ chair…"

But it was that corner of the table, because that corner was right next to –

"I always sit beside Father at dinner." Apparently Loki needed it spelled out for him more slowly. Thor could not believe he had to explain this. Furthermore, he could not fathom how Father could simply watch the exchange wordlessly, almost looking _amused._ Very well. Thor would solve this himself.

"But I want to try sit here now. Can't I?"

Thor was horrified. "No."

"I mean just _once,_ just tonight! I'm already here!"

" _No._ "

"It's my turn if you always sit here!" Defiance was rising in Loki's voice, which needled at Thor's indignation even more.

"No…!" Thor felt a whine starting to tinge the edge of his own words.

Mother was suddenly there, stooping behind Thor. "Boys, it doesn't matter who sits where – " There was that warning tone in her voice that normally gave them both pause, but Thor refused to let it sway him just yet. Loki was in his spot.

Thor would solve this himself. He still held his play-sword.

* * *

They sat side by side at the otherwise deserted long table, both glaring.

The only sounds in the colossal hall were the tiny chinks of their cutlery. Loki's hair was even more tousled over his forehead after the scuffle. Mother and Father had eventually overruled Thor's own measures at righting the matter, sending them both away to eat their dinner together after the other diners had left.

Clink, clink. Gulp, clink.

"This is your fault," one said.

Clink, chew, clink.

"You're stupid," the other retorted.

They kept glaring as they ate.

* * *

(The woman smiled warmly as she seated herself beside him. As Thor had grown up, women's smiles seemed to have grown warmer, to both Fandral's dismay and teasing. Thor returned the greeting, but said, as politely as he could, "My apologies, Alva, my brother was already sitting there."

"No I wasn't," Loki said after she had moved away. Thor just shrugged. He didn't know why.)


	3. Chapter 3

"Now tuck it in, with the soil," she instructs. "Be gentle."

She watches her son's small hands – streaked with black dirt – obediently push the tender loam around the seedling's slim stalk. Still a little more roughly than how she would have done herself, but Thor can reduce them all to mulch for all she cares. He leans back into the hollow of her crouched position when he finishes, and she smiles into the top of his blond head, though he cannot see her face.

"Well done, Thor."

He peers up to beam at her, unknowingly reciprocating her expression.

"Your turn, Loki?" She says.

Her other one – crouching beside them so patiently! Her adoration almost swallows her whole – nods enthusiastically. His own smile squishes his cheeks upwards into almost eclipsing his often-solemn eyes.

Five saplings later, a courier – a young man – is there with a message that must pull her away from them. After nodding her thanks and dismissal, she asks her sons earnestly: "Can I trust you two to continue this for me? I have to go meet with some people in charge of other realms for a while. Gunvert will remain with you." The nursemaid nods from beside the bed of pink gladioli.

The two also nod up at her, resolutely – she knows they will try plant all the saplings before she returns. She touches the tops of their heads softly before she whisks away.

* * *

"Oh. My dears..."

Perhaps it is a shame, from the perspective of a gardener (or of general aesthetics), but she presses her lips together to hold in laughter. They watch her expectantly, nudging each other.

"You've done a wonderful job! Thank you."

Her sons beam through dark soil stains and the scent of bruised grass, exchanging proud glances. The wildflowers – evolved for winter, so weeded out previously to make room for new summertime florae – waved scruffily in the breeze next to the five earlier saplings. She praises the neatness of their work, noting to herself to ask the gardeners later if there are spaces elsewhere for the intended plants.

* * *

The soil is cool against her fingertips as she sends magic into the ground. She imagines the energy absorbing into the wildflower roots, like rainwater or nutrients would. Now, her sons' winter plants would flourish better than the originally planned ones, when otherwise Asgard's warm weather would stunt them.

* * *

They are heading to Somewhere Else – they often are, these days – but they always stop at her garden if it is on the way. This morning, she said she was to meet with the Jotun commodity exchange committee.

Loki nudges Thor's shoulder. He points at the bed of remarkably tall wildflowers – lush reds, sugary pink, cloud white with bursts of baby blue – as customary.

"Remember? They thrive, with her magic."

A corner of Thor's mouth tweaked upwards. "Of course I remember."

That was customary, too.

* * *

Thor is heading to Somewhere Else – he often is, these days – but stops to stare at the garden. His heart clenches to think that she tends to it no longer. And now Loki, too, cannot see their old handiwork of mistaken shrubbery and soil.

The wildflowers barely hold themselves upright, like spent soldiers. They look strangely undersized. Like magic had been lost.

Thor bows his head when he walks on.

* * *

 **Prompt 1: "Character A and B accidentally destroy something. Character A says they must own up to it. Character B wants to run from the security guards"**

 **Prompt 2: "You're in my spot"**

 **Prompt 3: "Planting a new garden/In a garden"**


	4. Chapter 4

Thor watched his brother's eyes flicker in pain before his knees hit the dirt, followed by his palms. The hurled cudgel that had struck the back of Loki's head spun off its original trajectory while Thor watched Loki's knife skitter across the floor of the stadium. Without hesitation, Thor launched his hammer – a miserly wood-and-stone mockery of Mjolnir, but the directors had declared Mjolnir too advanced to use in the tournament – at the attacker, sending her sprawling onto her back a satisfying ten feet away from Loki. Unlike Loki, she remained still after hitting the ground.

Thor looked around quickly for other approaching contestants as he hurried over to Loki, who was shakily starting to re-stand. Thor hauled him fully upright by the upper arm, telling him "She's out now, so only two other pairs between us and the exit – "

For some reason, Loki was glaring at him. From past experience, Thor found it best to meet his brother's sullenness with simple energy and enthusiasm whenever the situation allowed no time for the diplomacy that Loki preferred. Thor brushed off some dust greying the back of his brother's black hair as he said, "Not too bad an injury, I think, it'll be all right, just keep trying your best – "

"Why?"

"…You'll be al– what?"

Loki's question staunched Thor's stream of reassurance mid-word.

"Why?" Loki repeated.

Thor blinked at his brother. They had no time for this. The other pairs of contestants would be racing to the finish that very moment. "What do you mean, why?"

"Why should I keep trying my best? It does us no more good."

"How else are we to finish this?"

"Who says we have to?"

"It is a part of the Games!"

"Which is a part of their oversized egos, which evidently outweighs even yours, given how easily you let them dictate your play in this."

"Don't be snide."

"Then don't be stupid."

Thor let his eyes narrow at Loki. It felt wrong. It was normally Loki who stooped to those types of condescending expressions. "You just hate it because it wounds your own ego, because you seem so naturally terrible at it."

The audience in the elevated seats around them – accumulated like bacteria around a wound – murmured with interest as the two of them argued openly on the arena floor, their backs turned to the possibility of attacks from the other contenders. "And you only love it because it bolsters yours, because you're so naturally competent at it." He turned away from Thor, the dazzling lights overhead throwing the boney angles of his face into sharp relief.

Thor reached out a resolute hand to catch Loki's shoulder. He heard a fresh spike in the aghast delight of the spectators. If Loki tensed, Thor did not feel it through the layers of cold armour. He did, however, feel the full force of his brother's gaze turning slowly back to him.

"I'm sorry, but what is it do you think you're doing?" Loki inquired with a delicate civility like Thor had just asked him a question in a new language.

"Do not just turn away from me, Brother," Thor said darkly. "Now, there is barely half a league left of this obstacle course, and four more opponents somewhere that are racing this moment to beat us, so I shall win this for us both, and you can sulk in the shadows as much as you like while I do. I can find you afterwards." He adjusted his grip around the dusty hammer shaft.

There was a metallic clattering sound as the knife tumbled across the gritty floor to zoom back into Loki's palm. He still glared.

"Let's just go, Thor."

* * *

Thor inhaled deeply, like he could breath in the – _their_ – audience's cheering. The white lights overhead sparkled as if in applause, too.

He turned to look at Loki, who was – Thor could have predicted – sulking beneath his deceptively neutral expression. Thor just patted the same shoulder he had grabbed earlier to make his brother face him. His own cheerfulness would eventually infect Loki as it always did.

"Stop this strange moodiness already, Brother! We've won another great tale to add to the sagas our historians will tell of us in years to come. How we won the Rikr-Tveir Games with ease." He added, "And with only a few arguments."

" _You_ won," Loki shrugged, staring around at the admirers like a trapped fox being slowly approached by its hunter.

Thor chuckled, but just automatically. Over their decades together, he had developed almost reflex reactions to his brother's shows of oddness. Although perhaps laughter was not the most appropriate one in this instance.

Loki raised an eyebrow at him. Which was probably Loki's near-reflex reaction to many of Thor's doings.

"What do you mean?" Thor grinned. "I openly admit you also overwhelmed _some_ of our rivaling pairs."

"Admit you hear _them_ , Thor." Loki gestured towards the thousands of spectators.

They were both being approached by the suite of Games judges – the leading one bearing what Thor recognised as their trophy, Hrodr – but the crowds were chanting only one name.

 _Thor… Thor… Thor…_

"We did finish it together." Loki shrugged again. "But you won. You always do." Thor watched him smile sweetly while speaking the bitter words, leaving Thor wondering if it left a strange taste in his brother's mouth.

He watched the smile warble and fall from his brother's face.

"What, Loki?" Thor asked.

"But I don't _mind_ ," Loki insisted, beseechingly. It made Thor suddenly ache, for some reason.

He let his hand rest softly on the back of Loki's neck. "I know, Brother."

* * *

 **Prompt for this one: "Game". What with** **all the Ragnarok business going down, I took the prompt 'game' to mean a (evidently gladiatorial) tournament of some kind.**

 **More drabbles on their way (: Hopefully with a little more originality than this one, but I guess this particular series is just my do-what-I-want outlet.**


	5. Chapter 5

"Their neighbours bestow them with sweets for simply wearing costumes?" Volstagg looked as incredulous as he could with his left cheek bulging with the buttered oatcake he snacked upon. Thor nodded as sagely as his teenage self could.

"Oh yes, _and_ the costumes are whatever they please so long as they are frightening!"

Loki was in his familiar cognitive limbo in which he noted the surrounding conversation while drinking in the book open in his hands. He found he entered this state often during Thor's conversations with his other friends.

"Isn't that right, Brother?" Thor was saying.

"Mm-hm…" Loki hummed absently.

"He not even listens, Thor," Sif was remarking. "He could think you speak of an entirely different human festivity."

"They _do_ select their own guises, though." Loki's head did not rise as he flipped the page.

Volstagg was already sounding impatient. "Well, what are we waiting for? All we need now is to dress as something intimidating and we're off to Midgard!"

"Let's each disguise ourselves as bilgesnipe," Fandral suggested.

"Bilgesnipe are massive compared to any of us," Hogun scoffed. "Even Volstagg."

"Then we shall blanket ourselves all together in dark cloth to dress as one bilgesnipe!"

Even without hearing the voice, Loki would not have doubted that as Thor's idea. Though funnily enough, Thor would likely claim the same thing if Loki had suggested it.**

Thor was continuing, "I'm sure we can source such fabric from one of our tailors."

Sif's voice: "You realise the people of Midgard won't know what a bilgesnipe _is._ "

"They can simply interpret our costume as a fearsome fictional beast," Thor replied cheerfully.

"Well, as much as I'd enjoy staggering around under some curtain or blanket with the four of you on Earth, I'm afraid I'll have to withdraw from these tricks and treats in favour of some errands I've not finished for my father yet."

"But we will need at least five people to make an adequately impressive bilgesnipe," Thor protested, as if he had extensive experience on the matter.

Volstagg answered, "Surely we can find a fifth member willing to do this for free sweets."

There was a contemplative silence. Loki hurriedly began working an invisibility spell.

"Brother?" Thor's voice tapped against him like rain on windows.

He looked up, reluctantly. Thor was grinning expectantly all over his boyish face.

Loki let out a slow breath. "…Oh…"

* * *

Someone – probably Thor – crushed the toe of Loki's right shoe.

"You know I adore our quality time together, Thor, but I'm not sure how highly I'd rate the quality of this right now – "

"Just keep pace with my footsteps, Brother!"

" – and I don't even want free sweets."

"Ridiculous, Loki." Volstagg's voice was muffled by layers of the thick cloth.

"Ow." Hogun's utterance could have passed as a bilgesnipe-like growl.

"I think this costume would appear considerably spookier if the bilgsnipe was missing a leg…"

"Not a chance, Silvertongue. You're sticking with us," Volstagg asserted.

The blanket stifled Loki's sigh.

* * *

"Hunting for eggs?"

Skepticism was apparently one of Sif's favourite tones of voice. It made the otherwise calm air of the library itch, and always seemed to carry her young, high voice unnecessarily far. Clutching his stack of time-fragrant books, Loki wove between the tall shelves.

"It's a celebratory tradition for many children on Midgard," Thor was trying to describe to her. "On their day of Easter, they search for hidden eggs together, like a game."

"Or a contest," Thor tacked on provokingly, evidently to appeal to Sif's competitive nature. "It will be no fun for me if I arrange and undertake an Easter egg hunt on my own."

"It should be no fun for you anyway, if you're the one who also hides them…?" Loki raised an eyebrow from beside his brother's shoulder. "Also, no chatting above a whisper in the library." Thor turned to shake Loki's own shoulder with an affectionate hand.

"You know what I mean."

"You and your fixation on experiencing all things Midgardian."

"How can I possibly rule the Nine Realms in the future without a full insight into their cultures?"

"Funny, you've not seemed particularly keen on trying any iconic traditions of, say, Jotunheim or Muspelheim."

"Ah, well…" Thor wrinkled his nose. "I don't like carving ice… or sacrificing beloved friends and family to sacred fires…"

"On behalf of your beloved friends and family, I thank you," Loki said. "But admit to us – seeing as we're your friends and family – that you just like excuses to dally with your actual responsibilities."

"Nonsense, Brother," Thor insisted halfheartedly. "However, I would be grateful for your partaking in this glorious hunt with me."

"You make scrabbling for inanimate objects sound so exciting."

"Just join me! It will be fun. What else were you planning on doing today? Surely you've completed all your daily jobs assigned by Father and Mother three times over already?"

"Only twice…" Loki shrugged. "I was planning on practicing my cloaking spell."

Thor grimaced at him. For the second time, Loki raised an eyebrow at him. Thor just continued his mope intently.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Fine."

The grimace flipped into a grin.

"I refuse to believe you're nearing adulthood," Loki murmured.

* * *

"Found another!" Thor's voice resounded exuberantly across the grounds. Loki gave him a deadpan thumbs-up with the hand not cradling several painted poultry eggs.

" _What_ are you two up to?" Looking up at their mother's expression, Loki realised why he himself was so good at raising eyebrows at things that struck him as nonsensical.

"…Hunting for eggs."

Frigga evidently decided to just look amused. "Of all prey to stalk, why would you hunt eggs?"

"Well, Thor would. I'm humouring him. Like a good brother." Loki beamed.

Frigga just patted his cheek indulgently before striding away.

* * *

"A day in honour of a Saint named Valentine?" Fandral asked interestedly. "What was so honourable about him?"

Loki turned around slowly from the midst of twisting the chamber door handle to exit, and watched the Warriors and Sif watch the predictable idea unfold on Thor's face like a sunrise.

"But we do not even know what this holiday is about," Hogun said steadily.

Thor was already turning to Loki animatedly. "Well, Loki and I will – "

"Definitely not this time." Loki shook his head before shutting the door behind him.

* * *

 **Prompt: "Holiday". Decided to roll Halloween, Easter and Valentine's Day into one.**

 ****Because as I reread the drabble, I remembered the whole cross-dressing Jotun-wedding myth…**

 **P.S. My latest posts and updates have been pretty much just the lighthearted fics and prompt challenges that I'd begun way earlier in the year and hadn't had time to complete until now, but hopefully I'll get to start some more Ragnarok-inspired things soon. As always, thanks for staying tuned and for the support you've been giving me *sends cookies***


	6. Chapter 6

He runs a soft hand down my neck. I half-close my eyes as he does; I trust only him enough to do this.

It took me many turnings of Seasons to be sure he is, in fact, a he – he had changed so quickly from his foal self, and it is difficult enough to tell with his herd. As he carefully straps in the different pieces of my Journey armour over and under me, I amuse myself with thoughts of this.

Our first Meeting was unplanned, and, it seemed, troublemaking on his part – his Mother Mare's voice had risen higher than normal and her tone was unmistakably furious. But I had not regretted Meeting him so young. His tiny foal self had held so still, almost lost among the hay and shadows of my normally locked stable, while I had sniffed and turned my head about to See him properly. I did not meet Little Colt again for some Seasons, and by then, he looked and cantered so differently, though my name for him remained. Only by his scent half-buried in my Memory did I recognise him.

But it seems the others of his herd treat him with the same kind of rough play as they do their other stallions and colts. Especially his elder Brother-of-the-Heart, the one who accompanies him often when they enter the stables. It had not taken so many Seasons to understand Little Colt was also Youngest Colt. Since he and his Heart Brother had begun riding, I remember – his hands spanned the least length of my nose; his voice always higher; his build shorter and thinner. Little Colt and his Heart Brother are like a swaying willow tree growing beside the tallest thickest oak.

Then he rubs my nose, and I finally feel his Worry, which is like a seed immediately sprouting inside my own Heart. I would have realised as soon as he opened my stable door if he were another of his herd, but Little Colt has managed to hold it well inside himself again, just like Leader Sleipnir when he once tried to avoid his own Worry from spreading through our herd like a virus, about a storm that was to pass over our land. It is like a heavy chain weighing Little Colt down as he walks, rather than something that radiates like it does from the others.

I nicker softly, inviting him to speak his woes with me while we are alone, though my Ear usually grasps the moods rather than words of his herd's Language. But sometimes it works, he murmurs to me quietly between my leaps and sprints, and – at least I think wishfully – his gait and heart are lighter when he exits my stable after our journey.

This time, however, he remains silent as he dresses me, and his Worry seems to stiffen his shoulders. His eyes are liquid dark in the shade of my stable, and sad. It changes once we step into the daylight – his eyes are almost green again, and the Worry is hidden behind a straight back and slight swagger.

I feel his hand again stroking my neck, coaxing me forward and as if he is trying to brush away his Worry that has stained my coat. "Come on, Hulda." His voice hovers in its rightful place, somewhere behind my head like a second Mind to guide me where I cannot See.

"Brother says we're going to Jotunheim."

* * *

It has been many, many Seasons now, but even in the midst of panic, I wonder if Little Colt will return.

Alarm is spreading swiftly through us – each of us individually and as a herd – like a forest fire, not even Leader Sleipnir pretends that he is in control. The sounds of Little Colt's herd at war is too close to our stable – noises like metal on metal, his Heart Brother's rage-said-in-storms, and screams – and we can see things in the sky that do not belong there.

When will he return?

Laga pushes me urgently towards the stable door the others are kicking down to escape. _He will not rescue you,_ She whinnies softly. _None of our Riders will. We are alone._

We break down the doors, and we run through his herd's ancient gold city towards their bridge of rainbows. It is deserted like the frozen mountains on the horizon, but we can hear his herd's cries from the bridge as we near.

One of the smaller pieces of sky debris – a motor-air-wing-vessel – zips across the storming sky like a gadfly, towards the Gold Mountain Stable where Little Colt lives. I almost do not notice it.

The last time I had been this afraid was once in the Realm of Fire, but even then I had Little Colt on my back and wielding his cold Magic that had chased the heat and burns away.

Thinking of fire…

"Tremble before me, Asgard!"

There is a monster of fire rising above us. And then above the trees, the Gold Mountain Stable, the very clouds...

None of us will outrun it, but I know none of us stop running.

The last thing I See before the monster fire overtakes me is that little gadfly-like air-motor-ship whizzing across the sky back the way it came.

* * *

 **I wanted to write about and post other things while working on another larger Christmas multi-chapter fic, but also I was wondering the other night how my dog views our family, and eventually applied that to the Asgardian royal family. Then I remembered that they don't have dogs in Asgard, so thought about the horses.**

 **Although maybe the Asgardian race of horses aren't completely related to the Earth ones, like maybe they're stronger and faster than ours similar to how Asgardians look like humans but are basically relatively indestructible?**

 **Happy almost-Christmas, by the way, if you celebrate it :)**


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